


Of Stale Firewhiskey and Redemption

by LamentingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Not DH-compliant, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamentingQuill/pseuds/LamentingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look at this scar,” she said, trailing a finger gently along its ridges marring his cheek, “and see weakness. But when I look at this same scar, I see strength.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Stale Firewhiskey and Redemption

** Of Stale Firewhiskey and Redemption **

by

_Lamenting Quill_

 

* * *

 

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here because your son asked me to be. He’s worried about you,” she replied indifferently, standing in the dim light of the library, observing the profile of the once proud man sitting in the chair before the fire. His head was slightly bowed as he gazed at the grate, and a half-empty bottle of Ogden’s was wrapped in his long, pale fingers.

He snorted, taking a swig from the bottle. “And so like a typical Gryffindor you decided to rush in to save me from my demons?” he snarled, not taking his eyes off the dancing flames.

“Something to that effect,” she replied calmly, not moving any closer to him, her gaze not moving from his face. “After all, I do owe you for saving my life during the Final Battle. A Gryffindor always repays their debts, even if the repayment is unwelcome.”

“I don’t need saving, so you may rest your overactive conscience and leave me be, Miss Granger,” he said, swallowing another drink.

“Damn it, Lucius!” she growled, crossing over to him in a few quick strides, grabbing the bottle from his grasp and throwing it angrily into the fire, the flames flaring as the glass broke and alcohol intensified the blaze. She turned her back on the flames, brown eyes resting on his slouched form. He gave no indication that he had noticed anything that had just happened, and it only managed to anger her more. When she next spoke her voice was low and deadly.

“Enough. You’ve been holed up in here for over a month, Lucius. Narcissa has been dead for a year, you escaped Azkaban, the war is over, and you were exonerated. Your son managed to survive, despite Voldemort’s best efforts, and without you switching sides when you did we would have lost and I would be dead. You attended none of the ceremonies, none of the celebrations, and no one has seen you since the night Voldemort fell. I’m bloody sick of your little pity party, because you’re so vain that you won’t be seen in public with a scar that you should damn well be proud of.”

She stepped forward, reaching out and roughly grabbing his chin, lifting it to force him to meet her eyes for the first time. The firelight flickered across his face, illuminating the jagged scar that ran from his temple, across his cheek, down the slender column of his aristocratic neck, stopping at the base of his throat. He tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. The hollow look in his icy eyes chilled her as she looked upon her broken saviour.

“Do you think that I don’t have scars?” she hissed harshly, “And do you not think that several people now sleeping in their graves would have gladly traded their deaths for that mere mark on your face? You should wear that scar like a medal of honour, Lucius. You should look in the mirror every day and feel pride that you made the right decision, that you have that physical evidence to remind you of what happens when you make poor choices. But you, _you_ had the courage to admit them and change your ways. You look at this scar,” she said, trailing a finger gently along its ridges marring his cheek, “and see weakness. But when I look at this same scar, I see strength.”

Lucius finally jerked his chin from her grasp, turning his face from her. “Don’t even pretend to understand my feelings on matters that you cannot fully comprehend,” he hissed. “Your attempted heroism for my benefit is duly noted, and now I would appreciate it if you would leave.”

“I understand your feelings quite well, Lucius. You were brought up in an abusive environment with a controlling father who pushed you into the Dark Arts as well as Voldemort’s service. You made decisions that you now regret, and did things that haunt your conscience every moment of every day. You were forced into a marriage with a woman that you held no affection for merely for the sake of bloodlines. You feel guilty now that she’s dead because you never loved her, and believe that it was ultimately your own stupid mistakes that brought about her demise and the endangerment of your son. You now have a visible battle scar from the hand of your one-time comrade for turning your back to your one-time Lord, and you feel unattractive and undesirable. Am I at all close, or am I entirely off the mark?” she asked evenly, watching with satisfaction as he grimaced.

She hated seeing him this way. He was a Malfoy: egotistical, autocratic and not afraid to flaunt his fortune. He had saved her life, and she owed him everything that she could give him. But even placing the debt aside, she felt compassion for the shell of a man before her, knew that even though he had made mistakes he didn’t deserve to be locked away in his own home, a victim of his own self-loathing. She wouldn’t allow him to do so. He was stronger than this, and she knew it. She only had to make him see it.

“Enough, Lucius,” she repeated, moving to straddle his lap, her knees falling on either side of his slim hips as he jerked, looking at her startled.

“What-”

She stifled his angry exclamation by pressing her lips roughly against his, feeling him stiffen under her sudden ministrations. She moved her mouth against his gently, trying to coax him into responding, but he remained unmoving, his eyes opened and gazing into her own with that still present hollowness, tempered only by a slight spark of shock. She raised one hand to rest on his rigid shoulder, her other going up to slide through his long locks of silver-blonde hair. She eased the pressure of her unreciprocated kiss to gently nip at his bottom lip, capturing it between her teeth and sucking on it lightly.

Unperturbed by his uncanny impression of a stone statue, she began rocking her hips against him slowly, feeling him becoming aroused despite his lack of movement. She released his now swollen lip to trail steamy kisses across his cheek, following the line of his scar down to just beneath his jaw bone, feeling the muscles clench beneath her attentions.

“I don’t want your pity,” he said, his voice breathier than she was sure he had intended.

“Good,” she mumbled against his imperfect skin, “because I’ve none to give you.” She prised his hand from the arm of the chair which he had been squeezing in a death grip and placed it on her thigh, sliding his cool hand beneath her skirt. She slipped his still fingers under the edge of her panties, sliding them through her wetness as she moaned.

“Do you feel that?” she asked him breathlessly, her mouth close to his ear as she said, “This is because of you. I’m aroused because of you; because of your proximity, the way you feel beneath me, the way you taste, the way you smell, the way you look…. Don’t you see, Lucius? I know your past and I see your scar, and yet I still find you incredibly attractive, because I’ve always known that beneath your god-like countenance and appearance, you were always just a man, and men make mistakes. But it is the good men that endeavour to correct those mistakes, and the great men that move on and learn from them. You’re a good man, Lucius, but now – now it’s time to be a great one.”

She thought she saw a hint of warmth enter his grey eyes and she leaned forward, placing her lips a hair’s breadth away from his as she whispered, “Let me help you feel again,” and she felt the thrill of victory sweep through her veins as he gave a strangled moan and covered her mouth with his own.

His kiss was hungry and desperate, his tongue wrapping around hers like that of a starving man’s would wrap around a piece of meat, savouring the flavour. He drank from her lips like he had from his bottle until she felt completely, utterly consumed. His taste was of stale firewhiskey and redemption, and it would linger on her palate and in her memory long after the kiss’s end.

The hand beneath her own that still rested against her centre began to move, and she whimpered into Lucius’s mouth as his fingers began teasing her clitoris with slow, deliberate strokes. She arched in pleasure as one of the slim digits slid easily inside of her. She moaned, raising steady fingers to unbutton his linen shirt, making quick work of it and pushing the garment off his shoulders to gather at his elbows. Reaching down she grabbed the wrist of the hand pleasuring her and slowly withdrew it from her wanting body, raising it to her mouth and licking his fingers clean.

He groaned and she smiled at the sound, letting his hand fall as she slid backwards off his lap to kneel in the floor at his parted feet. She first removed his boots, and then his socks, setting them off to the side. She then rose up on her knees and pulled his arms free of his shirt, tossing the garment haphazardly behind her before running her hands along his thighs. She met his gaze as her fingers came to rest on his belt buckle, and the fire in his eyes was far more intense than that in the grate, and she knew. She knew he hadn’t been intimate with anyone since Narcissa.

She unclasped his belt, smirking slightly as she lazily pulled it from the loops, laying it to coil around his boots in leathery imitation of a snake. Her hands returned then to the button and zip, and then she was pulling his trousers down creamy legs, her smirk widening as she found he was wearing no undergarments beneath. She tossed the article behind her as she had done with the shirt, and then her hands were on his calves, sliding lethargically upwards, feeling the tremors occurring under her smooth palms.

She gave him a falsely coy smile before bowing her head, dropping wet kisses along the inside of his right thigh, enjoying the way the muscle tensed beneath her lips as he hissed his pleasure. She moved to repeat her actions on the left, and then pulled back to look up at him. His cheeks were flushed with his arousal, his eyes half-closed and his mouth half-open. She swirled her thumbs teasingly along his hips where her hands had come to rest as she purred, “Relax, Lucius, and enjoy.”

And then her mouth was on him, causing him to gasp in surprise as his fingers clutched at the arms of his chair once more, and she applied pressure to her hold on his hips to keep them from rising as she took him deep into her throat before pulling back up to swirl her tongue around his tip, savouring the flavour that was uniquely him. The sounds he was making were unintelligible, and she smiled around him when his hands moved to slide through her hair as she continued to pleasure him. Sensing that he was nearing the edge, she pulled back completely, chuckling at the small sound of protest he made.

She stood from her kneeling position in the floor, her eyes on his and the feeling of satisfaction in her soul as she watched him pant for air, looking more alive than she had seen him in a long time. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel needed. She rather thought she could get used to both.

Hooking her thumbs in the hem of her shirt she pulled it over her head, making quick work of the rest of her garments until she stood before him naked and unashamed under his heated gaze. She straddled his thighs once more, grabbing his face in both of her hands and pulling him into a fierce kiss; one that spoke silently of promises for a better future. She moaned when his hands fell to settle on her hips, his touch like a needle pumping desire straight into her veins. She slid her wetness sensually along his length, causing him to pull out of their kiss to drop his head back against the chair with a groan. She leaned in to lick and nip at the hollow of his throat as she positioned herself over his tip, impaling herself on his need.

Once fully seated she leaned forward, placing her lips against his ear as she whispered breathily, “Gods you feel good, Lucius.” And it was the last coherent thing that passed between them as they gave way to communication far more intimate than words could ever be. Flesh melded against flesh, lips pressed against lips and hands clutched at one another as they lost themselves in the steady rhythm of their movements, climbing higher and higher on the plains of ecstasy before tumbling, dizzily, over the edge of culmination.

Hermione buried her nose in Lucius’s neck as she tried to catch her breath, feeling his arms tighten around her, holding her as close as possible, as though she were his lifeline. She thought that she just might possibly be.

“Hermione…”

“Yes, Lucius?” she said, not moving from her position, enjoying the smells of firewhiskey and sex that clung to his skin.

His next utterance was so soft that she mightn’t have heard it had she not been so close, as he whispered with more than a hint of desperation, “Stay.”

She did.

 

 


End file.
